Broken Rose
by VietRose
Summary: AU Eight years after being abandoned, Miaka has dedicated her life to the man who had saved her. But you can only go so far before something hits the fan....
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** OK, OK, I submit to evil pressure. That, and people who are just reading my story are grossly turned off by the fact that Miaka turned three years old in two weeks in the second chapter. Er.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Alone**

_Vietrose_

"Your blonde hair-" (grunt) "-is-" (grunt) "-_sooo_-" (grunt) "-pretty..." Now repeat that sequence a total of eighty-six more times.

At such a young age of seven, reality and imagination were borderline, head to head, shoulder to shoulder. At that age, most kids were coming out of the strange Neverland and plunging headfirst into cold, real life. They were at a crossroad, having a choice between believing or not believing. Usually they become disillusioned after discovering for the first time that they had been lied to; afterwards, they begin to question about their lifestyle. Am _I_ living a lie? If I'm the only one who can see my friend over there, does that make him _not_ real? Smart kids choose the cold, harsh splash of reality; Miaka preferred believing.

And that's just what she did, pushing headlong into the task of brushing her doll's wet hair and believing that the knot would come out; she had faith in her skills for the past two hundred sixty-eight days. Everyday, she toddled over into her mother's bedroom, holding the same, plastic hairbrush that couldn't have been bigger than the entire size of her hand. Her mother didn't like anyone on her bed, but it was OK because Miaka was sitting on the _right_ side and not on the _left_, where her mom always slept.

"Don't worry-" (grunt) "-Barbie #16!" (grunt) "You'll be-" (grunt) "-_pretty_ in no time again!" The knot was a defiant, little one, but being the persistent child she was, Miaka continued struggling and tugging; somehow, the situation manifested itself into an old-fashioned game of tug-of-war, because she found herself on the floor, the Barbie tucked firmly between her thighs while both of her hands were gripped on the brush and pulling. Hard. She was putting on maximum pressure for the best results, and she had _better_ see something--

The head gave a clean, squeaky pop, and Miaka lost control as it- the brush still stuck in the hair!- flew past over her head and kept going and going and going, only to be stopped as it collided against a perfume bottle, which in turn cause _it_ to topple rather precariously for a moment before slowly toppling forward and onto the _wooden_ floor, towards its painful death.

Miaka watched, her eyes bulging comically; she had been too shocked by a headless Barbie #16- her latest and _favorite_ Barbie!- to react quickly, and now, as she scrambled over to where the glass was broken and the perfume fast fanning out, her heart plummeted several feet downwards- it was her mother's favorite fragrance. The door downstairs shut loudly, and there was a soft groan followed by giggling. "Oh, no," she whispered; the woman always had impeccable timing... Miaka made a strangled noise as she heard the woman say, "Why don't we go into my room?"

She panicked. Miaka stumbled to her feet and sprinted towards the door, her only goal to save as much time as possible while she collected all evidence of her being here. Locking the door, she ran back for the headless Barbie and its head; it was behind the dresser, and try as she might, Miaka's little, chubby hands couldn't reach it.

The door rattled, and she whimpered nervously, staring at the oak's glazed finishes. "Hm... I think I must have locked it when I went out to meet you." Her mother made for fake confusion to cover her embarrassing mistake. "Relax," a deep chuckle followed, and she 'mmm'ed in agreement. "I'll pick the lock for you."

Ah, of all the men... She swiveled around, forgetting about the head, and crawled over to the broken bottle, her hands ready to collect the glass. The biggest ones were the easiest to carry, and she had gotten a good chunk of the pile onto her right hand when the door swung open. **_Uh-oh._**

"... Oh."

Miaka looked up slowly, not daring to look at the stranger or her mother directly. But she saw her mother's white capris in front of the man's business pants, and she saw her mother's white pumps in front of the man's loafers. No sound came from her, as no sound came from them. There would definitely be some consequences after this...Then-

"I gotta go."

There it was, another one gone and lost like every other man who had seen her. Miaka swallowed heavily, still not daring to say anything; her hands were bleeding.

Her mother started. "No, wait, you don't understand." They were moving down the hallway and tromping down the stairs, both his and her going at a matching pace. Miaka stayed where she was.

"I didn't friggin' pay you to give me a kid, Yumi!"

"But she's not mine- she's my sister's mute child! I'm only keeping her here temporarily-"

The door slammed shut, and the woman took a deep, ragged breath. It was the fifth time this month that something like this had happened. She struggled to keep her temper from flaring; it wasn't Miaka's fault... _it wasn't Miaka's fault_. She loved her so much, but _God_ she was too much to handle sometimes. This would blow over, she knew it; she could never stay mad at the little girl. She was a _good_ mother... she cared for Miaka, she fed Miaka, she raised Miaka under strict discipline, and she made sure she only hit the girl when she had done something flagrant or wrong. She was a _good_ mother, she knew it.

But the girl's father wasn't. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, trying to block out the face that had told her he loved her and wanted a family with her... he had gotten what he wanted at the young age of 20. And what did that bastard do? He had his family pay for a lawyer to ward her off, his eyes cast downward and shameful- he _should_ feel bad, that dog! That was the first time she experienced the feeling of being lied and used. He wouldn't acknowledge his child, and her family had cast her out once they had discovered her premarital engagement. Filthy and disgusting, they had told her, she would never be a mother.

But here she was, in a comfortable home with her daughter nearly seven years later, all grown and fed and healthy. She had told them she would care for Miaka no matter what, that the child would grow up happy and never experience what she had to go through. She was still in such a low and demeaning job, but all that mattered was Miaka being happy. Her only goal was to defy the lowly thought her parents had formed of her... and she had succeeded, too.

Right?

Lately, Miaka's presence during her job was scaring away all her clients. They didn't think a prostitute could raise a child... and apparently, they didn't think a prostitute was capable of having one, either. Her hands began to tremble- they always did when she was nervous. The bills had been piling up lately, there was barely any food at home, and not to mention her employer thought she was slacking off. He knew she had a little girl, and he sympathized for her... but he gave her a caveat last time, that if she lost another customer...

It was either her daughter, or her life.

Miake was still kneeling, the bloodstained glass discarded beside the unpicked ones. She had fisted her hands together, ignoring the cut on her palm; the blood was seeping underneath her fingernails and through the cracks between her fingers, but she ignored the warmth of it, and the slight burning accompanied with it. It was nothing compared to what her mother would do; Miaka quivered from her stilled position. Not only did she cause one of the men to go away (again), but she managed to break one of her mother's treasured possessions. She winced, already anticipating the punishment.

Her mother appeared by the doorframe, her face looking strangely neutral. This was a new thing, as she usually appeared mad and psychotic whenever a man ran away. Miaka quickly bowed, apologizing as sincerely as she could; anything to lessen what would happen next. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break your perfume bottle, I really didn't. The head just popped off and flew everywhere-" She was unaware of how completely mad and crazy she sounded, and she cowered when Yumi walked forward and kneeled down. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"It's OK," she said softly, gently, and so _unlike_ before. "Oh, I didn't realize you had a cut at all. Let's go put a band-aid over it before it gets infected." She smiled, her eyes glimmering.

Miaka was in shock, her mouth dropping open and staying open. When did this happen? What happened? Did something work out with the man? Her mind was in a jumble, asking thousands of questions, and she briefly wondered if her mother was using a new method of discipline. She kept wondering this as Yumi led her into the bathroom, propped her on top of the sink, and disinfected the injury.

Several minutes later, she finished, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "There we go, all done," she exclaimed. And then she must have thought about something, because a little later Yumi's eyes were watering, and then she was crying -_really_ crying- and muffling a sob in her throat and squeezing Miaka all at the same time. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..." she whispered into her little shoulders, and her own ones were shaking. "I don't want to, I really don't want to-"

Her actions were having disastrous effects on the girl; wasn't it supposed to be _her_ pleaing for redemption, not the other way around? Perhaps Yumi was sorry that she would... have to chastise her later? "No, no!" Miaka exclaimed hurriedly. "If you don't want to punish me, you don't have to! I really learned my lesson!" It was best to control the situation before the adult did, or else.

Yumi pulled back, failing to notice the absurd apprehension in her daughter's eyes; instead, she reached out and cupped her face. "Honey..." she struggled to get her voice back. "T-Today's Christmas Eve, right?"

Miaka nodded as best as she could.

"Well... w-why don't I give your present early?" Her smile was broken by the tears, the mascara was streaking horribly, and her lipstick had rubbed onto her daughter's white shirt. But neither one of them cared; for Miaka's part, she was no longer worried about her mother, but had become more interested in the present. "Do you want it now?"

"Do I? Yes, yes, _yes_!"

Yumi looked down at the little girl, her eyes so trusting and her hands clamped together happily. Ignoring a disgusting lurch in her stomach, she watched as Miaka jumped onto the floor and hopped from foot to foot impatiently. "Where is it, where is it, where is it?"

"It's a secret," she whispered quietly."Just grab a coat and something for you to play with in the car." She _was_ low and repulsive, just like her parents had said. Yumi turned around, unable to meet Miaka in the eye. "I'll be in the car waiting."

At the young age of seven, most kids are caught between naivete and reality. Usually they become jaded when they discover for the first time that they had been lied to. Smart kids learn from experience; Miaka believed she was going to receive an early present.

-

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"Are we there-"

"What did I just say?"

Usually this would happen whenever she knew where they were going. It was a nasty, little cycle that kept going and going, and it just stuck naturally; she would annoy persistently, her mother would get annoyed, she would keep quiet for a total of six seconds before starting the entire round happily with no recollection of what happened _very_ recently. But today she sat quietly, strapped comfortably to her seat and hugging her teddy bear; it was her most precious thing in the world, as it was the first thing her mother had bought for her out of her pocket. Miaka scored big creativity points by naming him Bear Bear, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"We're here," her mother said, pulling the beat down car into a parking space. She had stopped crying, although her face looked red and blotchy, and her eyes looked suspiciously watery again as she glanced at the rearview mirror. Miaka was too busy freeing herself from the seatbelt to notice.

"I want to see, I want to see, I want to see!" She was ready to tear the door open to see what it was. The anticipation, the curiosity, the waiting... any longer, and she would just _positively_ spontaneously explode! Luckily, Yumi opened the door before anything could happen, and she jumped out gaily, huffing and puffing excitedly. Bear Bear was tucked safely between her arms, and she spun around several times. "Where is it, where is it, where is it-?" And then she saw.

It was only the _biggest_ tree in the entire park with strung-up colorful Christmas lights. Candy canes were outstretched on all the wily branches, and all the ones on the bottom were stolen and gone thanks to the few that could stretch far enough to grab one. Angels and plastic red sleds and green ornament balls decorated the evergreen, all the way to the top, where a delicate, crystal star glowered from all the lights.

She took a deep, shallow breath, blinked once to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep, and then pinched herself. It hurt... and then Miaka was jumping up and down again, too much in one day. "Oh, how did you know this was what I wanted most of all?" It wasn't hard; the refrigator was completely filled with drawings of green trees and multi-colored bulbs spiraling to the top where the stars were. "You're the best!"

Yumi couldn't respond; instead, she walked silently ahead. "Don't you want a closer look?" she called, not bothering to turn her head. Miaka was a good girl, and she listened to what she was told. Her mind told her she was an idiot, and her heart broke as she spotted small, purple boots at the corner of her eye.

"I am so excited! This is the _best_ thing you have done so far!" Miaka cheered enthusiastically. Bear Bear must be feeling the joy, too, because his black eyes were sparkling, and his mouth was curled up into a grin. She hugged him, letting the waves of exhilaration wash over her. It was incredible, how much a little bit of time with her mother could do to her mood.

They had arrived in good time- five minutes until the last countdown of the month. Her mother lifted her onto a cold, stone bench not too far. "OK, you stay here, you got that?" she said, her eyes searching into the little girl's; it was gentle, but penetrating. "I-I don't want to lose you or anything." Miaka nodded slowly. "OK? But where are you going?"

Yumi's hands trembled, but she forced a numb palm to her daughter's face. "Nowhere. I'm-I'm just going to be..." She never finished the sentence. Her hands were rattling now, and she made a brave smile that broke down when Miaka smiled back. It was now or never, and she pulled her daughter into a desperate hug, much like in the bathroom. "Bye, little darlin'..." She whispered the pet name softly, for the only person in her life who had _ever_ loved her so unconditionally. And before she could reply, Yumi had pulled back, her mascara running again, and she strode quickly, painfully, past Miaka and her teddy bear, her bobbing head disappearing into the small crowd.

Something rang disturbingly in the back of her mind, that maybe her mother was acting a little strangely today. First ignoring the perfume bottle, next letting her slide by without so much as a scrape, then giving her an early gift, and now calling her by her pet name- her mother _never_ used it in public. Miaka looked back to where her mother had left; it was unnerving how she was completely gone from view in a few seconds. Maybe she should follow... Bear Bear shook his head. "Don't go," he said for her ears only. "She'll get angry."

Miaka nodded; she recurred her words earlier, quick images of eager promises to listen to her mother from then on. And what better way than to do it now? She ignored the unsettling feeling in her stomach, pushing it aside in favor of her mother; it wasn't a good time to be unruly and disobedient.

For the next five minutes she sat there, watching families of all sizes pour into the park; some of them were by themselves and others had as many as eight people. With such a huge attraction, it was almost stifling, just sitting on the bench by herself... but her mother was going to be so happy to know that her daughter had obeyed her the entire time.

Miaka _really_ believed she would return.

"Little girl, are you by yourself?" she looked up, her breath coming out in one puff of cloud. A middle-aged woman stood over her, peering through squinted eyes. "It's awfully cold for you to be out here alone, you know."

She shook her head. "No, no. My mommy's coming back. I'm just waiting."

"Ah, that's good to hear." The lady smiled warmly. "Do you know where she went?"

Miaka didn't.

A man in a red suit interrupted before she could answer. "Gather 'round, people! It's Christmas Eve, and it's the _last_ night for the tree to be lit!" Santa Claus roared merrily, motioning everyone with his gloved hands.

"Mom! Mom! It's starting! Hurry and get a good spot!" a girl zipped out of the crowd and ran back to pull the woman- the one who had been talking to Miaka -away. "Stop standing around, or we're not going to get a good picture this year!" the girl complained, and her mother laughed gaily.

Miaka looked around her; everyone was gravitating towards the evergreen, but none of them was her mother. The timorous feeling she had been trying to force down tickled the base of her spine, but she was stronger; Yumi wasn't very good with punctuality. Maybe she's running late, Miaka reasoned.

_**If only I knew where she was, I could get her.**_

"_10!"_

The people walking past her was thinning out, and she still looked around very carefully, trying to pick out long, flowy hair.

"_9!"_

"_8!"_

Only one or two people were running to catch an up-close view of the rest of the countdown.

"_7!"_

She shifted in her seat, looking around to see if Yumi was behind; she never liked small spaces or events with a lot of people. Yeah... that was it. She was probably standing behind her, watching the tree and her daughter at the same time.

But that wasn't very plausible, because there was no one behind Miaka.

"_6!"_

"_5!"_

She swallowed heavily, and a sudden whip of cold air blasted against her, permeating through the too-diaphanous fleece jacket. Her fingers dug into the bear's soft, round belly, and Bear Bear cried softly in pain.

"_4!"_

All those drawings of trees, and all those drawings of her wanting to go to the park... she didn't want of those anymore. If she had known that her mother wouldn't be there to share the fesitivities and such, she wouldn't have asked to go at all. "I want my mommy," she barely whispered, the puffs of air coming out faster and faster.

"_3!"_

"_2!"_

"_1!"_

_**I don't want to be here anymore.**_

"Lights!" The crowd cheered loudly as the park was engulfed in blinding, white lights; the tree was sparkling for the last time, and people were laughing, pointing at the star. It glittered, just like the real thing, and they 'ooh'ed and marveled at it.

"Merry Christmas!" Santa laughed gleefully.

A little girl in purple boots hopped off the bench, her fear fully overtaking her. She knew her mother would be angry, but why did she have to go and miss such an important event? She destroyed such a wonderful thing for her daughter. Miaka had no trouble dodging people; they were all buzzing around the tree like flies to a white light. She was a big girl; she never cried. But there was a first time for everything, and she felt a small stinging in her eyes and a strange lump in her throat; and then the tears came, and she found herself wailing pitifully.

Miaka stood where her mother's car had been.

-

It was late, and the sky was black. Black like her eyes, black like her mother's hair, black like the crayon, black like a fire's ashes, black like the roses, black like her feelings...

What time was it? She didn't know; it was supposed to be the next unit in class. But she wouldn't get to learn, now would she? Miaka sat on the same, grey-slabbed stone, her eyes cast downwards; no one was there, and even the kind lady who had spoken to her earlier had left. She had forgotten about the girl, much like-

_**Mommy didn't forget me- there's no way! She just--just...**_

What was it? _What_ was the answer? If Yumi hadn't forgotten about her daughter, then _where_ was she? What was she doing now? Miaka could not find any plausible excuse, and the very hint that such an important figure in her life had _meant_ to do something like this... it scared her.

It wasn't fair. Why did her mom have to forget her on such an important night? She couldn't deal with this, there was no way- of course stories were on the news all the time about stuff like this- a shelter? Wasn't she good enough- she was in a park, and maybe Yumi would come back, or just the kind lady from a few hours ago, or maybe a policeman who knew his way around town, or just _anyone_. But then what? What would she say to him? They moved around so much, so she didn't even bother trying to remember--

Panicked thoughts jumbled incoherently, and Miaka began to cry again, her numb fingers digging into Bear Bear. He had gone to sleep a long time ago, and she was left with an silent, humming void in her ears. **_Where? Where did she go!_** "Talk to me, please," she snuffled, looking into her animal's face; he smiled sadly and blankly, not knowing how to respond.

She cried harder and pressed her face against Bear Bear's cotton stomach. There was no one left, not even her best friend in the entire world; he fell asleep, and God knows when he would wake up again. She hiccuped violently, her shoulders shaking like a frail leaf when-

"What the hell?" Miaka looked up to see who had spoken, and she found herself staring into _green_ eyes sparkling underneath the park's tree. "Why are you out here, kid?"

She remembered her mother telling her to never talk to strangers, and she turned her head sideways, still crying and sobbing and sniffling. "..." She hugged the bear closer against her chest.

"What?"

"You're going to have to talk louder than that, you know." He wasn't one for patience, apparently.

"I can't talk to you," Miaka whispered, still avoiding his unique eyes- ahead, the lights around the gigantic Christmas Tree began to flicker.

"And why not?"

"Because Mommy said so."

"Well, she's not here, now is she?" It was simple logic to him, but a painful reminder to the little girl. She broke down feverishly when he said that, coughing and choking. "No, _no_ she isn't. But she's gonna!" It would have been convincing if she had believed it herself.

The man was quick to grasp onto what happened, and he stared at her while she sniveled away, young and rotting on a stone bench in the middle of a goddamn park. Finally, he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and started again, this time more gently. "Listen. I don't think you know what's going on." The girl lifted her head slightly; it there was a time where he felt truly sorry for anyone, it was now. "Your mom... she left you here."

"I-I know that-"

_"She's not coming back."_

It was only a few seconds, as he looked grimly at the little girl in her thin, pink fleece jacket and her strange, purple boots with her hair sticking hungrily to her face. She was an absolute mess, and her crying never completely stopped throughout the harsh reality of their conversation. Poor girl. "But we can find your mom again, I'm sure-"

"She would _never_ leave me," Miaka interrupted him, her eyes strangely round. But a moment later her mouth crumpled, and something glinted in her eyes before shattering and drawing a raw trail down her cheek. It was true, wasn't it? (No, no it wasn't.) Her mother had really left her here. (She promised she would return.) Maybe it was a mistake (How could someone make a mistake like this?)... maybe- (That was all it was, wasn't it? Maybe this and maybe that. Well, _maybe_ Yumi didn't forget; _maybe_ she had the intention of leaving her all along.) She shook her head, and as she cried, this time it was for a completely different reason.

"Where do I go? W-What am I supposed to do?" She was scared. The man offered no consoling or a warm hug; he gazed blankly at her bowed, little head, thinking a lot of things and considering where to go from here. _This_ was a turn of events, to say the least...

"Tell you what," he finally began, and she barely reduced her tears. "Why don't you come live with me for a while?"

Slowly, the lights on the Tree turned off, one by one like dominoes falling in line.

"Why?" She was puzzled; he had only met her ten minutes ago, after all.

"Well, you don't want to die, do you?"

The star blinked rapidly, losing its moment of twinkling glory.

Miaka shook her head, her eyes daring to peek into the man's handsome face. "Where... do you live?"

"Close by." It was the truth, and he extended his ungloved hand out, a gesture daring her to believe again, daring her to cross the line that most children pass once, daring her to _trust_ someone with almost no familiarity, daring her to jump to Neverland, daring her to turn the cold splash of loneliness into a warm trickle of love and kindness and--

She looked at his hand uncertainly, afraid it would bite her, or worse, _lie_ to her. The star flickered off, leaving the park in black as quickly as it had engulfed it with brightness and assurance.

"I promise to take good care of you while you're living with me," he whispered, gazing softly at the girl. Those were the words she wanted to hear the most from someone she wanted to see the most... but the woman wasn't here, and she would _never_ be here again, and Miaka felt her throat closing and clenching as the fuzzy edges of reality sharpened. Here she was, finally, as the biting cold whipped around her fingers, as Bear Bear was sleeping soundly in her arms, his fur covered in frost, her lips bruised blue and purple, and where was she? On top of a bench that promised nothing but pitiful death. It was a sad unwelcome from existence itself, and there was nothing she could do about it, no matter how much she cried and wailed and wished. There was only death, and the man's outstretched fingers. What could she do?

Miaka was crying so _so_ hard as she took his hand painfully. "Can Bear Bear come, too?"

He laughed at her imagination and nodded. "Absolutely." She slid off the bench for the last time that night, and he led her towards the park's exit, away from the coldness and away from the moonless sky.

And somewhere, in the distance, another heart broke.

-


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Um. Um. There is a _very_ good explanation as to why I haven't updated this in two years. I got inspiration for my Inuyasha stories (_Nghi_), so... yeah. But now I don't, so here I am again. :O

I just wanted to mention that my writing has improved (Or at least I think it has.), so thank God I only wrote one chapter, eh? I'll probably update it to my liking (and fix it so the two chapters will match. XD)

**Disclaimer:** Wasn't the series created, like, 84,000,000,000,000 years ago?

* * *

**Chapter 2: In Your Eyes**

_Vietrose_

She was too young at the time to realize what she had gotten herself into. Out of the pan and into the fire was how it usually went, and Miaka had _really_ jumped. The man with the green eyes was so nice and kind- how could she refuse someone like that? And right after her mother leaving her in the middle of the park, too!

But she was seven, and she was, once again, too young and too dumb. The man gave her a loving hand to hold onto, and she took it. Now two weeks later, he was stretched out across a beaten recliner, his feet propped up, and she was beside him, holding a plastic tray and looking disgruntled. He sighed contentedly, reaching over for a beer bottle; all the while, his eyes were trained onto the small, television screen, following its movement.

Miaka tried to please him by standing still, but she was a tad ADD, and she was soon slumping and sighing and scoffing again. "This is no fun," she complained. "All I'm doing is holding your beer and cheese curls for you!"

The man shushed her. "It's the opening game for the season, and I need to hear the scores, so shut up for a moment, kid."

She looked a bit miffed, but kept quiet after that. Her arms were sore, and her feet were cramping up, and Bear Bear was lying broken-hearted in the corner with no one to love him. It was way past her bedtime-11:30- when the game wrapped up with the scores, and the man marked them down onto a small slip of paper. "Gotta love connections," he sang quietly to himself. Miaka was too busy falling asleep against the side of the chair.

"Aw, you're falling asleep, kid?" he asked affectionately, and she nearly fell over. "All right, you can take the couch for tonight," he said, scooping her up and placing her gently onto the sofa. She mumbled inarticulately and stretched her hands, and he got the idea; he returned a second later with Bear Bear in hand, and Miaka mumbled thanks, snuggling against its fuzzy body. "Sleep well," the man said, ruffling her head before retrieving his coat.

"Wait..."

He paused, turning his head over his shoulders. She was awake already? Well, damn... "Hm?" He was the master of expressions, and hiding inner emotions was his forte.

"Whasyurname?"

... Eh!

"Whasyurname?" Miaka asked again, already drifting off. He exhaled a big sigh of relief; thank God children had a predictable clock. There was a time to be hyper, and a time to be drowsy, and she was configured perfectly.

"You can call me Jay."

She nodded off once more, muttering incoherently, and he shook his head slightly, smiling a little before leaving quietly.

-

It was very early in the morning (Three? Four?) when a loud thump jerked her from sleep. It was an unconscious type of sleep, where you dream about nothing, and she actually liked those. Her eyes were almost pulled shut when another thump woke her again. "What...?" Miaka yawned and stretched out her back-

The door suddenly crashed open, and she twitched, clamoring out of her sleeping position and onto the far end of the ugly, green couch. Too many events had gone"W-Who's there!" she called out, terrified at the dark figure crouching near the doorframe. The answer came in the form of green eyes, as Jay's eyes twinkled ominously in the dark. "That you, kid?" he rasped heavily. It looked like he had no mouth, from the way the black covered everything.

"Jay?" she asked tentatively, her eyes furrowing in concern; she crawled onto the floor when he nodded. "What happened? What's going--" The questions were cut painfully short when Jay grunted again, still crouched and walking slowly backwards. Miaka stepped forward to help him, but then he stepped into the moonlight, and she saw his pretty face marred and stained with blood. And then the trash bag Jay was dragging ripped open, and she saw what he had been carrying, and Miaka was quick to back up into a corner, slumping onto the floor and whimpering, hiding behind Bear Bear.

A bleeding corpse.

"Fuck!" he swore angrily, kicking the body, and a bit of blood from the neck oozed onto the floor; Miaka began crying, and Jay looked in her direction. "Oh, no," he realized finally, taking a step towards her. She shuddered and tried to shrink back even further. "Kid--"

"_Don't touch me_!" she shrieked, the tears streaming smoothly down her face. He ignored her outburst and continued. "I mean it!" her hands were unsteady, and Bear Bear shook like a poor rattle.

"Kid," he tried again, but she was sobbing now, trying to scuttle behind the white-washed walls. It was no use, and the bloody man kneeled in front of her. "Listen to me--" Miaka shook her head, her eyes tightly screwed shut. The stench of death's blood was heavy in the air, and then he had the nerve to _touch_ her cheeks with his bloody hands, the cool liquid rolling across her face.

He shushed her again for the second time, and many times after that, and the keening ebbed into silent suppressions. "Listen to me," he tried again, and it was a much better response as she sat there, violently shuddering from trying not to wail. "I won't lie to you, kid." He tried to look sincerely into her eyes, but they were still screwed shut, still too terrified. "This is _exactly_ as it looks like. This is _exactly_ how a dead man looks like.

"This is _exactly_ how my enemy looks like."

She was beginning to break down again. The scene? The man? The enemy? She had been living with a killer for the past two weeks? Miaka was old enough to know what everything meant; she watched the news all the time. But to experience it first-hand... "Open your eyes."

She shook her head, but he persisted, gentle but firm. "Open your eyes." She tried to drop her head against her chest, but his hands kept her positioned. "Open your eyes."

Miaka did as she was told, and Jay's face came into view, emerald eyes staring softly down at her. "This is how I live," he whispered to her.

"This isn't normal-" she began, her voice climbing in pitch. She was losing control again, losing control of the petrified feeling. Jay cut her off again, hushing her. "_This_ is normal. It has always been normal for me. For us now."

For... us? "But what if--"

"Listen to me," he cut her off, and she was quicker to follow his command. He was still staring at her, but more steely. "You've seen it all. You know it all. But whatever you do, don't say anything. _Never_ tell anyone. This will be our little secret, OK?" he nodded encouragingly, and she could only helplessly look away, still gripping Bear Bear.

Jay was not satisfied. "Promise me," he said, his voice coaxing and smooth. "Don't make me do anything I don't want to do."

Miaka looked at him, her eyes shimmering from the light. Then she looked behind him, where the man lay, his neck swiped open and his chest bleeding. Could she trust Jay, someone who had done _this_?

Then she thought of how he had treated her these past weeks, giving her shelter, food, and comfort. He gave her a place to sleep, he played games with her, he gave her clothes to wear, but most of all...

he gave her back a family.

It was absolutely wrong, and she felt low and cornered, but for giving her something so precious and wonderful... Miaka nodded, her eyes welling up. Jay gave a huge sigh of relief and kissed her damp head. "Thank you. Thank you so much," he breathed, and she began to cry a little harder.

"We're family now, kid," he said, bringing her onto his lap and rocking her. She hugged Bear Bear closer, too ashamed of what she had done, but Jay didn't seem to see that; he wiped away her tears and replaced them with smeared blood in their wake. "We can tell each other anything. We can watch each other grow up, we can buy each other birthday presents, we can do everything a normal family can do!"

Miaka was sobbing again, her face pressed against his leather jacket. Her shoulders twitched as she hiccupped, and her throat was scratched raw. She had someone who loved her again, but why did it feel like nothing compared to the dread in her stomach?

"Shh, it's all right," he lied carefully. "We are like everyone else.

"We just have more secrets than others."

-


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hahaha, silly me, I forgot the title of this story. -- I know, HORRIBLE.

**Disclaimer:** See, Yu Watase has something I don't have: ideas.

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**Chapter 3: Beginning**

_Vietrose_

"_What_?"

Jay rolled his eyes and repeated, "Congratulations, Mrs. Miaka, you have been chosen-"

"I heard what you said! What did you say after that?"

Miaka was _not_ a happy child; Jay had promised her until ninth grade! _Until_ ninth grade! He sat her down when she was just a wee, little girl and told her that she had to receive some sort of education. She was definitely put out... and then he told her that it was up to her whether she wanted to go to high school after that. She definitely remembered him giving her a choice, and she chose to not go. After all, high school was just about the most useless place to spend the next four years of your life, and there was _absolutely _no way she was going to spend her precious youth locked up in a study hall learning for her algebra test! There was absolutely, definitely, stick-in-the-mud way was she-

"You're going," Jay said. Miaka's mouth dropped open in shock, and then indignation took over. "What? No way!" she exclaimed heatedly. She swiveled around, her ponytail whipping behind in agreement, and made for the couch.

"Wait," he stood up. "But you got into a pretty decent school. Look-"

"No, I don't want to," she interrupted him, falling back onto the sofa. There it was, a familiar pounding on her temples. Lately, she had been having those whenever Jay tried to talk to her; it was a compound of frustration and annoyance that he was trying to enforce something onto her. Miaka pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing Jay and the headache would go away.

His mouth tightened into a small line at her tense posture; rebellious teenagers were so hard to deal with... "You need to go to high school and get an education, and from seeing last year's grades," he paused to stare pointedly at her, "you're pretty damn lucky a place like this accepted you."

"Either that, or the school is stupid," she retorted, her eyes still closed. The headache was taking on a more forceful grip, unfortunately...

"This is a pretty good chance for you, so you can go and make something of yourself, you know."

"Stop pressuring me."

"It's not pressure; it's good advice."

Miaka dropped her hand and scoffed, her eyebrows furrowing angrily; how _unbelievable_ this man is! "Excuse me? It's not advice if you're telling me I have to go!" she argued. "I'm doing perfectly fine with or without an education!"

"And then what?" he challenged. "What if I'm not here? What if something happens to me, and you're left alone? How the hell do you expect support from someone who's buried five feet underground?" his eyes glittered, daring her to continue on with the spat. She remained quiet, her mouth twisting into an ugly scowl, and he took it she was somewhat listening. "Are you going to work at McDonald's for the rest of your life? Gonna become a construction worker? Bullshit! That's not going to get you anywhere where _I_ am!"

She snapped, and her mouth moved on its own accord. "When did you decide to become a real parent, anyways? Whatever I do with my life, at least it'll be an honest living!" Then she heard her words, and she saw that Jay heard the words, too. The room was quiet as he wondered what had come out of her mouth, and she wondered what also had come out of her mouth. A slight sort of guilt descended on top of her conscience...

And then all hell broke loose.

"Oh, you-!" he muttered angrily, standing up too quickly; he lost his balance and ended up crashing on top the table and somehow managed to stay there. Miaka started from the couch, torn between helping him or running out of the house. "When I get my hands on you," he growled menacingly, patting wildly behind him.

"Now hold on a minute," she began placatingly, putting up both hands, but Jay would have none of it. "You shut up, you stupid cow!" he roared angrily, and she pricked at his choice of words. "All your life I have been taking care of you... I raised you off my own money, and I fed you and clothed you! And you go and you tell me that I'm dishonest? How _dare_ you!" he yelled, his neck bulging. He finally found the cane lying beside the automatic water dispenser and leaned against it. "Get out, you ungrateful kid! Get out, get out, get _out_!"

The excitement and arm flailing involved too much movement for someone recently crippled, and Jay swore as he lost his footing and fell face foward; the cane flew out of his hand and landed several feet away, near the poker table. "Ah, dammit! I hope you're happy, kid," he said snarkily, flopping uselessly on the floor. "Not only have you decided to ruin your potential future and insult me, but you've also taken down a disabled person! What kind of person _are_ you?"

Despite him calling her a cow, insinuating body harm, forcing her to do something she didn't want to do, and attempting to evict her out of his apartment, Miaka's heart went out to him. Half those things _were_ true; he _did_ clothe her and take her in as his own child. And even though issues with his work came now and then, he was a very good man.

_**Are you sure?**_

She froze, and her heartbeat thumped a little faster. Where the hell did _that_ come from? There was no time for her to delve and prod at such a random thought, because Jay suddenly howled. "Augh! Dammit! Fuck the damn poker table! Fuck the damn house! Fuck fuck fuck..." And et cetera, et cetera...

Feeling ever so sorry for his woeful position, she sighed and shuffled over next to him, kneeling beside him. "Don't touch me, you idiot kid," Jay hissed, doing his best impression of a tantrum when she tried to get a good grasp on his arm. He swatted her hand away with his own, calloused one. "Don't touch me! I don't want your stupid rubbing off me! I don't want someone stupid helping me; I'm perfectly able _aaaaaah_!"

"Shut up, already," Miaka interrupted firmly, pulling Jay by the ear. Not to sound cruel, she was also supporting his weight on her shoulders, and he gratefully leaned against her, half-relieved and half in pain. Guiding him towards the trusty recliner, he sat down, rubbing his ear. "I could have done that if I wanted to," Jay said after a moment, and she rolled her eyes none to discreetly.

"Here's your cane," she said, picking it up and placing beside the armrest. "Is your foot OK?"

He made nonchalant noise, but squirmed nonetheless; it was his way of saying he was uncomfortable. "It'd heal a lot faster if I had some beer nuts to go with it..."

The room was quiet again as she padded into the kitchen; Jay turned his head, suddenly finding the battered yellow curtains so very interesting. Miaka not going to school was not a good thing; she needed this education more than she could know right now. A diploma meant many more jobs were open, and maybe she wouldn't have to work in this business anymore. He knew giving her the choice to choose whether she wanted to pursue her education was risque to begin with, but she was barely smart at the time. Jay had always assumed she would choose the right decision, which meant GOING, but then middle school became an unbearable hellhole for her... no friends, no social activities, no parties, no life. She seemed so isolated and so blase about her potential. Jay sighed loudly, rubbing his temples. When did the little kid get so rowdy and troublesome? When did she get so antisocial and aloof? She was always so quiet and subservient (although that really isn't a best way to describe anyone).

"What are you so worried about, old man?" a huffy voice demanded as an unopened bag of nuts fell across his lap. He jerked suddenly and caught her flopping onto the floor unceremoniously.

"You." It was the truth, anyways.

This time, Miaka sighed out loud. "Look, if you're so worried about high school, don't worry about it. I figure, I can always pick up my education later, you know? When I feel like it." She gave a cheeky grin. "There's always time."

The bag ripped open, echoing throughout the bare room. "No, there's not." He popped a few into his mouth. "Living with me is tough enough. I think there might be another one tonight; he's been hounding me for a while now."

Outside, she nodded curtly, but inside, she shivered. Another one? "This is the fifth one this month," she commented casually. "What's going on?"

"I dunno," he shrugged.

"But the last one got your knee."

"I'll live."

She looked away as Jay chewed on his snack thoughtfully, biting her lower lip anxiously. "I'm not going to school," she repeated again. The conversation was fast spiraling out of control and onto the topic about his work; she _loathed_ his job. "We might have to move, though," he continued, ignoring her completely. "I think people are starting to wonder about stuff." Like the black trash bags.

"Where are we moving?" she absentmindedly scratched a bug bite on her thigh.

"Near your new school." He grinned slyly, very much proud of himself for being so cunning.

"_What_?"

-


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** **1. **Yes, Miaka was four in Chapter 1 and seven by Chapter 2. But I went back and majorly renovated the first chapter... so go read! Now! **2. **I'm not sure if I can fit everyone into the story. It'd almost be claustrophic in a sense. Hahaha. But let's cross our fingers and see what I can do, shall we? **3. **Longer chapters longer waits. Shorter chapters shorter waits. Take your pick, guys. **4. **Last but not least, go read **_One-Sided_** by my cousin, JJ. 'Tis a really good story, and I edit for her. The fandom is DNAngel, but who cares, cuz it's really awesome. It's on my favorite's list, by the way.

**Disclaimer:** Meh. Just thinking about how Yu Watase draws Fushigi Yuugi makes me so tired.

**

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Chapter 4: Foreign

_Vietrose_

He dragged in a black trash bag, grunting and heaving unlike always. Damn the knee to hell... if only Suzushi hadn't injured him with the metal bar that last time... Somehow, he managed to make it to the bottom of the staris without disrupting any of the spare furniture lying haphazardly (and not to mention randomly) everywhere- they really needed to unpack one of these days, preferably _now_.

He was in the middle of the staircase, balancing precariously while trying to heave the thing onto the next step when his hand slipped and rebounded against the steel railing; Jay hissed painfully and released his hold, gripping his bruised knuckles instead. The bag fell quietly and uselessly, half-sprawled on top of his feet. What the fuck was the man's diet, pork rinds and beer? He cursed underneath his breath, still rubbing his back hand, as the panging ebbed away and left numbness in its wake. It was good enough, and he fumbled for the bag again, this time concentrating on getting to the attic. With a new grip and his fingernails dug tightly, he took a prepared breath before yanking upwards; it worked, as the garbage bag lifted easily, and somewhere in the back of his mind he gave himself a pat on-

Then his fingers dug through the flimsy plastic, creating big, jagged holes, Jay lost his holding for the second time as it thumped onto the floor again. He glared angrily, his bloodied forehead creased in annoyance. Why was everything working against him? If this thing ripped in two, there would be hell to pay, and then some; it was a new neighborhood, after all, and people loved to participate in less-than-noble activities... namely, spying. Usually the bag could hold a hefty weight and then some, but tonight had gone all wrong, and it would _just_ be the icing on the cake if people started wondering about what was going on next door; there was no way he was going to fuck this up, especially for Miaka. She needed this thing more than he did; the life she had back there wasn't working, and he had moved away in hopes that she would make something out of herself. That was _the_ main reason he moved here, not because--

_**for me to get away.**_

No, it wasn't like the business was catching up to him. It wasn't like the police were beginning to smell a rat. It wasn't like some underground people knew who he was and was beginning to ask questions about him. It was for Miaka and for her future- the girl meant more to him than he would ever admit. She was probably the only good deed he had ever done in his life, and there was _no_ way he would ruin something like that... or someone like her, for that matter.

But sadly, the house he had bought two months ago was in dilapidated conditions. _Really_ run-down. It was almost pathetic how he had went into the whole selling-house business with high hopes of buying a decent-looking home and came out with a rotten storehouse instead. Jay made a mental note to mark that down later so he could go and wring the realtor's neck. Two and a half bathrooms his ass- they were all as big as a doghouse. Disgusting. An island in the kitchen? Ha! More like a portable island... The bedrooms were a mess, but at least Miaka wasn't crashing on the couch now. (Although from the way his back felt when he took that afternoon nap, she was better off sleeping on the sofa.)

Overall, this place was a disappointment compared to his standards, and he didn't even have big ones to begin with. But he was confident they could do it. Little by little, they could probably fix the entire place, like painting the walls or something; it was a start, at least.

_**Well, it depends if we're going to be staying here long.**_

He groaned inwardly at the pessimistic voice; it would _always_ be there, reminding him daily of how a small mistake could cost everything. Well, not yet- Miaka didn't know about the police or the underground mob, so maybe...

"Jay?"

He started, hearing his own name in half-swallowed darkness. It was Miaka, standing at the top of the staircase in her worn pajamas, and she was staring down at him and the garbage bag and not moving at all. There was a window on the second floor, and the filtered moonlight shone through the cracks, illuminating her ghostly skin and her blank, dead eyes. Just like _every_, single time. He briefly thought of taking her to a tanning salon on her birthday, and then he began to loathe himself, hate himself for making her do this, for waking her accidentally and indirectly forcing her to help him. He hated the dead, black look in her eyes, the way she robotically did everything before heading to bed. It was as if she wasn't _here_ every time this happened, had retreated into a corner of her mind. She was _so_ different at night. "Do you need help?" It was a soft request, her eyes still staring holes into the bag (ironically).

Jay gave a huge sigh and shook his head. "No," he answered. "I can handle this myself. Even though I've got a bad knee, I can handle everything. I'm the surrogate dad here, remember? You just don't worry about all the dead bodies I'm bringing home. You don't worry about how I'm slowly tearing you down with this, and you don't worry about how we might be in big shit. Just a possibility, but don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Just go get some rest for school tomorrow."

That's what he wanted to say, _every_ time she stood waiting by the door or by the stair or by the wherever, her eyes glazed and her mind hidden underneath a protecting blanket. But in reality, he knew he couldn't. He knew that with his bad knee things were going to get a lot rougher, and that he would need someone to help him. And he knew that the cliche 'two heads are better than one' was very true, and that the people and their blood weren't just affecting the girl only, either. All this was going on inside his head, rewinding itself whenever the thoughts came to the end. "Yeah, I do, actually," Jay said as usual, and he bent down, prepared to pick up the body. "Thanks, kid."

There was no answer, no biting comment, no 'welcome'- just soft padding down the stairs, and then he saw his daughter's hands, bending down to cradle the dead man's neck.

"Where to?"

-

Miaka thundered down the stairs, several hair clips in her mouth with her backpack swinging carelessly on her arm. "Jay, how could you?" she hissed angrily, her eyes flaring. Both hands were expertly tying her hair into a neat, little ponytail, and she took the pins out of her mouth one by one. "You _know_ today is my first day starting at school!" She fastened them across the places where her hair was most likely to fall out; it was efficient, and it looked nice. Perfect.

"I thought you didn't care," he replied from the kitchen counter, and she could just _hear_ the smirk in his voice. She was irritated already, and so early in the morning, too. "I _know_ I said that, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't wake me up! For crying out loud, _you're_ the one who's making me go to this school!" Miaka looked at the clock- 7:45 A.M. That was _not_ good, since Jay had told her yesterday that school started at eight sharp, and they lived 20 minutes away. The gates closed immediately, and if she didn't get in...

Once again, not good.

She groaned loudly, ignoring his laugh, and grabbed a banana. "OK, fast breakfast today, and I'll be home straight after school." She made a beeline for the door, ignoring his protest. "You stay and join some school activ-"

Miaka had flipped the bag over her shoulder and was power-walking towards the direction of the school. She patted around her uniform, looking for the paper with directions written on it; the banana was already halfway through her mouth, and she frankly didn't care how suggestive it looked. There were better things to do than worry about her reputation with the neighbors. **_Dammit, why didn't you wake me up?_** And to boot, he was _laughing_ at her, too! Laughing, of all the things! What kind of father does that? Did he think it was helpful or something?

She downed the rest of the fruit and threw the skin onto the road. Technically, it was illegal to litter, but what the hell. No one was here, so she might as well save time and give to the environment. Miaka checked her watch, saw it was 7:50, and promptly cursed. It was definitely his fault for making her look so downright lazy as a first impression- of course, it was more than halfway through the year, and school would let out soon for winter break, but still... to her, it was _her_ first day, and that just sucked.

But not everything was Jay's fault... after all, he _had_ to bring home another person last night. But she pushed the thought away, refusing to go down that path seven- no, _five_ minutes before school started. Five? _Five_? Miaka broke into a full-fledged run, dodging random homeless people and joggers with their earphones and just about anything thrown her way. And it was 'just about' because at one point she tripped on a ledge of the sidewalk and wasted no time flailing- at that point, with the speed she was coming at, it was just run, trip, sweet concussion. "Shit!" she cussed, her eyes closing shut. It wasn't out of fear or anything, but more out of reflex- after all, she was going to smack headfirst onto the rocky pavement in three, two, one--

"Hey!" a strong arm had snaked out of nowhere and, grabbing her firmly by the waist, yanked her upright right before any sharp pebble could permanently embed itself into her forehead. "You're all right," he grunted, and she opened her eyes to look, to make sure that whoever it was wasn't playing a cruel joke- if she woke up to find her skull cracked and bleeding...

**_I'm... OK? I'm OK! Thank God-_** Miaka made the mistake of looking down at her wristwatch. "_Three_ minutes?" she choked out incredulously. In a flash she was on her feet again and running at the same speed like last time with a total disregard of what had happened. If that man thought she was going to grovel and lick his feet for saving her, he was wrong. It wasn't like she was ungrateful or anything... at the moment, she was a little bit _tight_ on time, and it was somewhat preoccupying.

But whatever. He'd probably forget about her. It wasn't like she was going to meet him again, right? She certainly didn't think so as she barreled along, almost sending a cyclist crashing into a rosebush.

-

Finally the black iron gates came into view, and Miaka saw the high school's initials carved pristinely above the main building. "Oh--thank--God," she wheezed, drops of sweat rolling. But as she neared the entrance, her heart plummeted as she realized that all her hard running was wasted: the gates were closed. "No," she managed to huff, coming to a complete stop. "You stupid school... let-me-in!" She kicked the gate, and as expected, it didn't waive towards her plea.

She looked at her watched- it read 8:03. Great. Three minutes late, and the school decided she should be shunned? All the dodging, the jumping, the yelling she had to endure, and the school decided it would be in vain... because of _three_. Frickin'. Minutes? Now that she was locked outside of the perimeter, there were two options to consider: don't take it, or don't take it. She had dragged herself out of bed, and she had run half a mile here, so the administrator can just shove it; she was getting into that building, final decision, end of story, case closed!

Not bothering to catch her breath, Miaka threw her bag over the gate easily enough; it wasn't too tall. What, maybe seven, seven and a half feet? Gripping the black bars, she stood on the tip of her toes, struggling to reach for the perpendicular bar that decorated the gate. Not tall enough, and she settled back on her heels, sulking about her Russian Roulette-esque genes- then an idea struck her, and this time she crouched slightly before springing up like a little monkey.

Her hands caught the bar, and Miaka smiled smugly at her brilliant idea. Using the graceful combination of clambering onto the top of the gate (and nearly losing her balance), she attempted to fall gently onto the other side- attempted being the key word. Instead, she lost one of her footing and ending up with two hands gripping onto the oval centerpiece with one leg still caught in place while the other was dangling in mid-air. It was like this for a few minutes before she thought, **_Ah, to hell with this_**, and, after prying her foot free, released her hold. It was two, three feet- what harm could it do?

Miaka crumpled like a paper doll on the ground, her legs hitting the stoned pavement with a loud thud. "Fuck... that's gonna leave a mark," she muttered, wincing as she struggled to a standing position. Her bag was nearby, and as she shuffled over to retrieve it, she realized the leg she had landed on- the left one -was bleeding from an ugly scrape.

Jay was probably guffawing at her karma right now. "Ugh... I can't believe it... Can things get _any_ worse?"

As it turned out, she later learned that yes, things can go beyond worse, as just around the corner was a school officer on duty. And he just so happened to witness the last bit of her scaling the gate. "Intruder!" he pointed, scuffling like a mouse up to her. "You're going to have to come with me to the principal's office. _Now_."

Life was so, _so_ cruel.

-


End file.
